


Dead Letters

by MoragMacPherson



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-05-29
Updated: 2010-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoragMacPherson/pseuds/MoragMacPherson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes packages can't be delivered. The likelihood of this increases if the package slips into the wrong dimension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for all of BtVS, season four of Supernatural up through "Family Remains," and then goes AU from there.

“I know I may have said this before, but this is a new low for us.”

Sam turned to glare at his brother just before they reached the counter, pulling out his badge. “Hello, sir, we’re Agents Pearth and Lee from the Office of the Inspector General.”

“We’re here for a surprise inspection of the facilities. There’ve been some reports of irregularities,” added Dean, not quite able to wipe the sneer off of his face.

The middle-aged clerk behind the counter bit his lip. “I’ll just get the postmaster then.” He disappeared into the back rooms of the post office, leaving Sam and Dean alone to bicker.

“How often do we get to come to L.A. and we’re stuck checking out a haunted post office?” hissed Dean. “It hasn’t even killed anyone.”

“Guy nearly lost his arm in a sorting machine accident last week, that’s got to count for something,” replied Sam.

“Probably the only place where my trunk doesn’t have the most guns in the parking lot,” muttered Dean.

As he finished, a tall, stern-looking woman emerged from the back. “Agents? I have to say that I’ve been expecting you. The lads from OSHA just finished their investigation, but there’s nothing like government bureaucracy when it comes to redundancy.”

Dean smiled. “We’re just happy to serve, madam postmaster.”

The postmaster glanced up over the top of her spectacles. “Please, call me Lucille.”

“Lucille, do you mind if we take a quick tour of your facilities?”

Lucille nodded. “Roger here can show you around. If you have any particularly pressing inquiries afterwards, I’ll be in my office. Happy hunting.” She inclined her head towards Dean then returned to the back.

Dean figured that, as a major organizational center in one of the nation’s largest metropolitan areas, this had to be nearly as exciting as post offices got. It still bored him to tears. Roger mentioned that for the last several years objects had been known to move without anyone knowing how, and that none of the female employees seemed to like to use the shower there any more. Considering the female employees he’d seen thus far, Dean was perfectly happy not imagining any of them in the shower.

“And this,” said Roger with a flourish as he opened the weighted door, “concludes our tour. The Dead Letter room. It’s gotten a little out of hand lately, but it had nothing to do with the accident.”

Sam gave Dean a significant look. “Well, thank you, Roger. We’ll just do a little checking around in here, so that we can file a complete report,” said Sam.

Roger shrugged. “Suit yourselves.” He let the door slam behind him.

Sam clenched his jaw. “It feel any colder in here to you, Dean?”

“Just a touch.” Dean pulled his EMF detector out of his pocket. “Who knows what people send through the mail? I’m really hoping it’s a lock of hair, tucked in a letter or something. Not... any other body part that I can think of.” He started ducking through the shelves. “He wasn’t kidding about it getting out of hand.”

Sam surveyed the shelves and sacks with dismay. “It’s a lot of lost messages in here.” He pulled a couple of envelopes out. “And none of it’s Publishers’ Clearinghouse. It’s mostly hand-addressed, the y’know, personal kind.”

Dean snorted. “What’s so wrong with e-mail?” The detector squealed. “Whoa, I’ve got something.” He ran the device along the shelf again. “Here we go.” The trigger appeared to be a lumpy manila envelope. “Postmarked 2003?”

“That’s about how long the stories seem to go back,” confirmed Sam. “It’s a long time to be lost, plenty of time for the ghost to get good and angry.”

“God knows I would be.” Dean tore the end of the envelope off with his teeth. A large brass amulet fell into his hands. “Well, it’s ugly.”

“Where’s it from and where’s it supposed to go?” asked Sam, grabbing the envelope away. “No return address, sent to a company called Wolfram and Hart?”

Dean tucked the amulet away in his jacket pocket. “Never heard of them. Now, let’s go melt this thing down and be done with this.”

~*~

The amulet sat in the pot. Dean was pretty sure that it was mocking them. “We’re going to have to break in to a factory or something.”

Sam shook his head. “We’ve used this thing to cast silver bullets with. Brass has a lower melting point than silver does.”

“Maybe it’s not brass.” Dean poked the amulet with a spoon. It didn’t even feel softer.

Sam sighed. “It looks like brass.”

“It is brass.” Both of the Winchester men jumped and whirled around. There, sitting on the end of Sam’s bed, was a thin, bleach blond man in a long black duster, leaning his head into his hands. “But it won’t melt. It can’t.”

Dean cocked his shotgun. “Oh, really?”

The man dropped his hands. “Yes, really.”

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in here?” Sam kept both his voice and his aim steady.

The man showed no sign of concern at being confronted by two armed men. He smiled. “Funny thing, I was just about to ask you two prats the same questions. Both ‘who the hell are you,’ and ‘what the hell am _I_ doing here’?” He stood. “Because if my eternal reward consists of kicking around postal facilities and cheap motel rooms until the end of time, I bloody well want to reconsider the whole heroic sacrifice routine.” He made an effort at kicking a chair over but his foot passed straight through the piece of furniture. “Bloody hell.” He sat back down on the bed and returned to cradling his head in his hands.

Sam lowered his gun. “You realize you’re dead?”

The spirit groaned. “I did mention the ‘heroic sacrifice’ bit, you stupid wanker.”

“Well, if we can melt down this amulet we can put you to rest.” Sam pointed at the melting pot.

The spirit crossed his legs and folded his hands together under his chin. “Well, fancy that. Except that the amulet itself burns hot enough to melt solid rock, so I imagine your little jewelry-making kit is going to run into some difficulty pulling it off.” Sam’s shoulders slumped at the news.

Dean moved closer, keeping his shotgun aimed at the spirit’s head. “Show some respect, please.”

The spirit arched a single scarred eyebrow. “Lower the gun already, you ponce. I can’t hurt you and you can’t hurt me. All you’re doing is compensating for something.”

“Is that so?” Dean let a shot go off, and the spirit flickered out of existence.

A few moments later, he returned. “Oh my, that really showed me,” droned the spirit. “But I certainly do fear the big, bad, gun-toting man now.”

Dean let the shotgun drop. “Okay, fine. We can’t get rid of you. So who are you?”

“Name’s Spike.”

Deans eyebrows quirked. “Spike, huh? Who’s overcompensating now?” Dean turned away and sank into the chair that Spike had failed to kick.

Spike smiled. “Well, you’ve got me there, Peaches. And who are you? Some amateur exorcist?”

“We’re not amateurs. We do this for a living,” said Sam.

“And I can tell by our palatial surroundings that you obviously make a fantastic go of it.”

Sam grimaced. “No one ever went into demon hunting for the money.”

This made Spike perk up. “Demon-hunters, eh?”

Dean nodded. “I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam, and yeah, we hunt demons. And ghosts. Which is how we got saddled with your sorry ass.”

Spike leaned forward. “Well, as good professional demon hunters, you must know about the Slayer. So how about you set about getting me to her and then we can both be happy to have me out of your hair.” He hopped to his feet. “Red’ll know how to magic me out of this, she always does, and then I can just get along with the rest of my un-life.” A real smile bloomed across his face.

Sam blinked. “‘Slayer’?”

“Yeah. As in, ‘comma, The’?” No flare of recognition appeared in the boys’ faces and Spike groaned. “Come on, she’s the real professional demon-hunter, chosen and all. Even if you haven’t met her you must have read about them in your demon lore.”

“Nope, not ringing any bells here, sparky,” said Dean.

“Well then you must be either real amateurs or just piss-poor at your jobs,” shouted Spike.

Sam held up his hands. “Calm down, calm down. Just, let me make a phone call to a friend, see if he knows anything about this slayer person.” He took his cell phone out of his pocket and started to dial Bobby.

Spike pointed a finger at Sam. “Make sure it’s Buffy.” He faltered. “If she’s still alive.”

“Buffy?” asked Dean, his lips curling.

“Yeah, stupid bloody name, don’t know what Joyce was thinking.” Spike sank back down on the bed, not really noticing Dean anymore. “She’ll still be alive. She made it out of there in time.” A flicker of doubt crossed his face. “Say there, Dean, how long have I been out?”

Dean pulled a flask out of his jacket. “That all depends. When did you go down?” He took a swig, and Spikes eyes followed the bottle.

“Would have been May of 2003.”

Dean nodded. “Well then, Spike, you’ve been dead and gone for just under six years.”

“Six years?” Spike’s eyes widened. “Damn. Even being stuck at the post office, it didn’t feel like it was that long.”

“My sympathies.” Dean took another drink. “So, I’ve gotta ask, if you’re a hero and all, why’d you shred that guy’s arm in the sorting machine?”

Spike blinked. “Morty? I didn’t have a thing to do with that. He was drunk off his arse.”

Dean glanced at his brother. “Huh. Lucky us.”

Sam hung up the phone, frowning. “Well, whoever this slayer is, Bobby’s never heard of one. He’s going to check a couple other sources, see if he can dig anything up.” He looked down at his lap. “So, yeah.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Spike stared off into space. “Maybe they went into hiding after Sunnydale?”

Dean stood. “Well, I for one would like some lunch. We’ll just leave you here to try and figure things out. Here, trade seats with me.”

“Huh? Oh, right.” Spike shifted over the wooden chair. “What’s this then?”

“Precautionary measures.” Dean pulled a container of salt out of his bag and made a neat circle of it around Spike. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that you’re kind of a dick.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Oh please.” Then he noticed that he couldn’t seem to wave his hand outside of the boundary. “What the-“

Sam smiled. “Just keep comfortable. We’ll be back in a bit.”

“Right. Don’t forget to turn off the hot plate while you’re gone, the last fiery inferno I was in was my explosive death, don’t care to repeat the experience.”

“Good point.” Sam turned off the smelting equipment. Dean gave a jaunty wave as he walked out, while Sam sheepishly closed the door behind them.

Spike flicked a finger against the invisible barrier. “What a bunch of tossers.”

~*~

Dean held his tongue while the food was delivered, but couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Well this is just great, Sam. You found us a pet. An obnoxious, delusional, English ghost whose essence is trapped in a magical amulet that we can’t destroy. Perfect.”

“What makes you so certain that he’s delusional?” asked Sam, poking at his salad.

Dean raised his hands. “I don’t know. His obsession with some fictional girl hunter named Buffy? That might have been our first clue.”

Sam shrugged. “Bobby’s still looking for information on her.”

“Sammy, can you think of a single hunter in this world that would ever hold on to a name like Buffy,” asked Dean, staring his brother down.

Sam looked down. “Fair point.”

“And that accident at the post office wasn’t even him. We did those guys absolutely no good, and now I can already tell by that sappy look on your face that you feel responsible for him.”

Sam leaned back in the booth. “Well, what are we supposed to do? Leave him to haunt the motel room for the rest of eternity?”

Dean waved his sandwich like a weapon. “I knew it.”

~*~

Spike remained in a pose of contemplation when the Winchesters returned. “Any word?”

Sam shook his head. “No, sorry.”

Spike’s continued in a soft voice. “Because that envelope on the table over there, the one the amulet was in, it says ‘Wolfram and Hart,’ doesn’t it?”

Dean glanced down at it. “It does. Care of someone named Angel.” A grimace crossed his face at the word’s unwanted association.

“They were going to send me to the damned Poofter? Fat bit of luck that I was at least spared that.” Spike sighed. “But I didn’t get delivered.”

Sam nodded. “Probably because there is no such company on record as having ever done business in the state of California. I checked the records.”

Spike tapped his temple, the tone of his voice climbing to a shout. “And that, my fluffy friend, is what does not make any sense at all, because Wolfram and Hart? They are sodding trans-dimensional evil doers!” Dean mouthed the word ‘trans-dimensional’ at his brother, who looked equally confused. “They’ve got branches everywhere. Every plane anyone I know has ever visited. Why couldn’t I be delivered?”

“Sorry there, looney tunes, they don’t have an office here,” said Dean.

Spike hopped up to sit on the back of the chair. “Exactly.” He held up a finger. “Which makes this a cock-up of absolutely cosmic proportions.”

Sam blinked. “Not that we don’t necessarily agree, but how so?”

“Because the bloody post office managed to send me to the wrong bloody dimension! A lousy backwoods dimension with no Slayer and with my luck, probably no Jack Daniels.”

Dean rubbed his hands together. “Gotta say, Spike, you’re not coming across as any more sane this time through.”

Spike glared at him, then glowered. “Sam, you couldn’t possibly let me out of this little circle could you? I find myself in need of a good pace.”

“Sure.” Sam scuffed the salt with his boot.

“Much obliged.” Spike stood, ruffling the duster around his neck, and began marching back and forth in the small entryway. “So, the Powers that Be weren’t quite done with their old whipping boy Spike. Saving the world just wasn’t a good enough ending to their tastes. Okay, fine, maybe it was more than I deserved. They want me to go swanning off to pull Angelus’ self-righteous arse out of the flames, most likely. Heh, but that didn’t happen. Instead, unknowable forces see to it that I wind up here.” He stopped. “Someone out there hates me.” He pivoted and began walking again. “All right then, no use being modest, lots of people out there hate me, but someone with some serious mojo hates me. No matter, I’ve gotta get back.” He turned on Sam. “And seeing as you’re slightly inclined to the supernatural, it’s going to have to be you.”

Sam hesitated. “Uh-”

“No dice,” said Dean, settling into the chair. “We’ve got real problems to deal with. No time to go on a wild-goose chase trying to send a crazy ghost back to some supposed other dimension.”

“What kind of problems? Some poltergeist giving grandma a cheap thrill at night in Pasadena?”

“Actually,” said Sam as he leaned against the wall, “we have an apocalyptic problem.”

Spike straightened. “Oh, apocalypse, huh? I’ve gotten through a couple of those in my time. Trust me, it all works out. Just don’t put on any shiny bobs that evil law firms send in your direction and you should make it out okay.”

“We’re talking _the_ apocalypse, here,” said Dean. “Revelations type stuff. Not the sort of thing that’s just going to work out on its own.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “They’re all _the_ apocalypse, Dean. And whether it was the world getting sucked into hell, all the barriers between dimension breaking down like Lego blocks, some grief-shocked bint using magic to put an end to all of creation, or, say, the source of all evil in the world opening the gates of hell to lead its legions out of there, they all have the same punch line. Everyone. Gets. Dead.”

“That last one,” said Sam, leaning forward. “That’s the one. That’s what we’re facing.”

Spike shuddered. “It would be, wouldn’t it?” He patted about at his pockets before realizing that he didn’t have any cigarettes and even if he did, he couldn’t smoke them. “So the First is here too?”

Sam coughed. “No. I mean, maybe. We’re trying to stop Lucifer from rising, he was the first angel, is that what you mean?”

Spike stared, then laughed. “Lucifer? The devil. You’re trying to beat the devil? Oh, this is too rich.”

“Something funny about that?” asked Dean.

“No, not really,” said Spike. “Like I said before, the names may change, but the song remains the same.” He lounged across the bed. “All right. You’ve got me. I’m in. I’ll help you lot out with this apocalypse thing while I try and figure out how to get home.”

Dean snorted. “Who said we wanted your help? And what kind of help is a guy with no body?”

“You’ll find that I’m surprisingly versatile. A body would be nice, don’t get me wrong, but it’s sort of gilding the lily. Not to mention that you need all the help that you can get, whether you want it or not.”

Sam swallowed. “How do you know that?”

“After all these years, I can recognize quiet desperation when I see it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during _Criss Angel is a Douchebag_.

Sam looked around the apparently empty hotel room and coughed. “Spike, you there?”

“Over here.” Spike was leaning by the window.

Sam nodded. “Good. Stay there.”

Spike’s mouth quirked. “Any particular reason?”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s just – I get uncomfortable, uh, going to the bathroom when you’re all disappeared like that.”

“I see.” Spike gave Sam a little wave. “Well, get on with your necessary business then. I’ll be out here, not peeping.”

Sam headed into the bathroom and shut the bathroom door, clicking the lock behind him. A short while later there came a knock from the front door of the hotel room. “Could you get that?” called out Sam.

“Actually, mate, no.”

“Oh, right.”

When Sam emerged, Spike was still by the window, smirking. Sam glared at him before answering the door. “Ruby. Come in.”

She pushed past him. “We’ve got seals falling left and right and I have to come find you in Magictown – who the hell is that?”

“Enchanté,” said Spike with a smile.

Sam put his hands behind his head. “Ruby, this is Spike. He’s been traveling with us the last couple of weeks. Spike, Ruby.”

Ruby gave Spike a once over. “Yeah, right, because you and Dean always pick up a few buddies before you go hunting.”

“I wish I’d had some choice in the matter myself. Have you heard Dean’s taste in music?” asked Spike.

Ruby set down her bag. “So what’s really going on here?”

Sam shrugged. “Spike’s a ghost. He says he’s a hero from another dimension–”

“I _am_ from another dimension,” averred Spike.

“And his essence is bound to an indestructible amulet that Dean and I found, so until we figure out how to destroy it or send him home, we’re stuck with him.”

“Love you too, Sammy-boy.”

Sam gave Ruby a strained smile before taking a seat.

“Can I see the amulet?” she asked.

Sam pulled his jacket off the back of the chair and fished the amulet out of a pocket. “Here you go.” But when he dropped it in her hand, it sizzled until she dropped it to the ground.

“Was that soaking in holy water or something?” she demanded, sucking on her fingers.

Sam shook his head. “No! Spike, you didn’t mention that this thing burnt demons.”

“You didn’t mention that she was a demon. And in my world, it didn’t. Or at least it didn’t hurt m- vampires. Well, not vampires with souls anyway.” Ruby and Sam both looked blankly at Spike, who hitched his duster around his shoulders uncomfortably. “Well, it didn’t.”

Sam picked the amulet up off the ground and held it up, letting Ruby get a better look at it.

“I don’t recognize the design. What’s it made out of?”

“Brass,” said Sam.

Ruby nodded. “Put it away. It makes me uncomfortable, looking at it.” Sam wrapped it up, and Ruby stared at Spike. “It feels wrong. You feel wrong.”

“Coming from a demon, should I consider that a compliment?” asked Spike. Ruby turned sharply away from him.

“His story about coming from another dimension may have something to it. I’ve never heard of anything like this, but with seals falling, maybe reality itself is getting weaker,” she muttered in a low voice.

“I can hear you,” sang Spike.

Ruby turned back to him. “You’re really a dick, you know that?”

“Could you two both chill out? Spike, Ruby’s a demon, but she’s on our side. Ruby, Spike’s an ass but he hasn’t actually been proven wrong about anything yet.” Sam sighed. “So, do you think him being here has something to do with the apocalypse?”

Ruby grabbed her bag. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. Nothing’s a coincidence lately. I’ll have to do some research. Do any other demons know about him yet?”

“No,” said Sam.

She hesitated. “The angels?”

“No.”

“Good. Try to keep it that way. In the meantime, is there someplace we can talk in private?”

Sam looked back, and Spike flopped onto the bed. “Oh, go on you crazy kids. Turn the telly on before you go?” Sam switched the set on before heading for the door. “Too da loo.”

Once again, Sam returned a half hour later to find Spike unmoved. “How do you do that?”

“No body means no body aches, no pins and needles, no reason to move.”

“That makes sense.” Sam went to the mini-fridge to grab a beer, which he opened and took a long swig from, making sure to smack his lips as he finished. Sure enough, Spike was staring at it. Sam smiled and stretched out on the other bed.

Spike pursed his lips. “So, one of you poofs finally gets a bird in the room and she turns out to be a demon. Why am I not surprised? Of course you’d be making the beast with two backs with the very thing you supposedly hunt.”

Sam twisted his head. “How the hell’d you know that?”

“I have eyes, boy. And it fits in with your general attitude of angst and self-loathing.” Spike smirked at the thought. “Still, if this world’s like mine, not all demons are completely down with the evil. Maybe she is on your side.”

Sam eyeballed his companion then took another long drink. “You know anything about switching sides from evil to good, vampire?”

Spike arched his eyebrows. “Caught that, did you?”

“I have ears.” Sam examined the bottle, from which most of the beer had already sadly disappeared. “What did your slayer pal think about that?”

Spike snorted. “Buffy? If only I could say I was the first vampire she got involved with.”

“So it was okay because of that soul thing you mentioned?” asked Sam, staring straight up.

Spike laughed, bitterly. “Soul was a consequence of that little dalliance, not the cause.” He closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them Sam had turned to him in curiosity. “Where I come from, it’s a demon that makes you into a vampire, gets into your blood, pushes the soul out. Over a hundred years, I was a demon. And I didn’t exactly have a conscience. Oh, I felt pain, grief, anger, desire, even love. Or at least something close to it. But guilt? Mercy? Compassion?” Spike shook his head. “Those were foreign. Only reason I went and got myself a soul was because I thought it would make her have me again. After that, that’s when the guilt came back, and the shame.” He looked over at Sam. “What I’m saying is, if the chit’s helping you, it’s because she wants something. If I were you, I’d find out what that something is.”

Sam remained silent for a few moments. “I’ll keep my ears open.” He finished the beer before continuing. “Dean, uh, he and Ruby don’t get along so well.”

Spike grunted. “Understood.” He brushed his nose with his finger. “He doesn’t need to know about the whole vampire thing either. You know how he gets.”

“Yeah,” Sam repeated the Spike’s gesture. “I know.” He swung his legs off the bed. “This calls for another beer.”

“Right.” Sam drained this bottle in companionable silence, both of them content to watch the inane soap opera on the television. Eventually Sam looked at his watch and stood. “Time to go to the magic show?” asked Spike.

“That’s right.” Sam pulled on his jacket, careful to leave the amulet on the table. He headed to the door, but Spike cleared his throat.

“Listen, Sam. Those powers of yours, the ones Dean’s always bitching about.”

Sam didn’t turn to face Spike. “Yeah?”

“I’ve done the trip from black hat to white hat. But I’ve seen the other way about too, you know. Nice girl, real bright, got messed up with forces she didn’t fully understand-”

“And wound up dying horribly,” finished Sam. “I know: I’ve heard the cautionary tales.”

Spike sighed. “No, she didn’t. Almost ended the world is what she did. Don’t know exactly what stopped her; I wasn’t there. But when I got back, after I got the soul and all, after she’d come back to the side of goodness and light and puppies, she, uh, well-”

Sam turned. “Spit it out, Spike.”

Spike shook his head. “She wasn’t human anymore. She was this whole other thing. Powerful, scary powerful. But not quite human.” He swallowed. “Don’t know how else to say it. Anyway, make of it what you will.”

Sam left without a word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during _Death Takes a Holiday_.

“You sure about bringing him out like this?”

Dean shrugged at his brother’s question. “My next-best idea is calling up Pamela and seeing if she can get us to astrally-project ourselves to go looking for the reapers.”

Sam nodded. “You’re right. I like this plan better.”

Dean looked over at Spike. “Don’t do anything stupid like walk through a fence in front of a pedestrian, okay?”

Spike bowed. “I’ll do my best to continue to be the brains of this operation.”

Dean glared then grunted and got out of the Impala. “Sure you don’t feel like getting your ass pinched, Sam?” Sam opened the door for Spike, and they started walking through the mostly abandoned streets. The light was grey and lifeless, almost like the lack of death robbed the vitality from the town itself.

As they walked down a row of houses, Spike cleared his throat. “Sam, you got that newspaper with you?”

Dean and Sam shared a look. “Uh, yeah, sure I do,” said Sam, pulling the obituary page out of his coat. He held it out in front of him so that Spike could peruse it surreptitiously.

“That’s interesting. That kid there’s supposed to be dead, but for some reason he’s staring straight at me out that window.” Dean looked up at the window that Spike indicated, not seeing anything, and tilted his head. Spike scowled. “I am not making this up, Freckles.”

Dean grinned. “I’m sure you’re not. I just enjoy pissing you off. Let’s check out the house.” When he looked back, Spike had disappeared. “Where the hell did Billy Idol go?”

Sam pushed his hair out of his face. “Probably into the house. I’m pretty sure the leash the amulet gives him is a lot longer than he’s led us to believe, and it’s not like he has to bother with knocking the door if he’s in full-on disappeared mode.”

“Sonovabitch,” muttered Dean. Just then, Spike’s head poked out the window, which would have been less unnerving if he’d been able to open the window first.

“Oi, prats! I’ve found the kid. We’re coming down for a chat, shall we?”

Dean saw Sam making an epic bitch-face as he looked up at Spike. “Spike, window!” Dean hissed.

“Oh, right.” Spike disappeared again while Sam glowered.

“This plan still sucks, Dean.”

Dean chuckled. “Seems to be working out just fine so far to me.” Spike reappeared next to Sam. “Hey, man, you can’t just do that out on the street, remember?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “No one here to see it, what does it matter? The kid’s mum is inside and can’t even see the table in front of her for grief. Not that that’s your fault, Cole,” said Spike, looking down at an empty space by his side. Sam arched his eyebrows. “Kid’s right there. Ask him about whatever it is you think he might know, I’ll relay the answers.”

“Why didn’t you get reaped, kid? Would’ve probably been some creepy-looking old guy, and you were supposed to go with him, contrary to every after-school special you’ve ever seen,” said Dean.

Spike appeared to be listening intently. “Says he wanted to stay with his mum. The creepy old guy was there at the funeral then some black smoke showed up. He hid from the smoke, when he came out, the creepy guy was gone.”

Sam’s mouth twitched. “The smoke was a demon, or demons. They must have grabbed the reaper to break the seal.” He looked down at the place Spike claimed the kid was standing in. “You did good to hide from it.”

Spike chuckled. “The kid’s taller than that, Sam, quit staring at his crotch.” Sam blushed furiously while Dean laughed. Spike, however, was looking elsewhere now. “Oh, hello, gorgeous.”

“Huh?” said Dean.

Spike grimaced. “Him? You could do better, pet. Dean,” said Spike. “There’s a rather lovely lady just showed up here, says she knows you.”

Sam shot Dean a look. “What? I’ve never been here before. Is she another ghost, Spike?”

“Oh, now the kid’s run off.” Spike scowled. “I’ll go after him.” He looked back at the Winchesters. “Her name’s Tessa, she’s the replacement reaper and she just scared the poor bugger off.”

Dean frowned. “I don’t remember meeting any pretty reapers.”

Spike grunted. “Well, she remembers you.” He shook his head. “Go ahead, I’m sure the boy could use it.”

Dean felt something brush against his lips, soft and tender and familiar. Then he staggered backwards as the memories hit. “What the - ?”

“Fat lot of good that did,” murmured Spike. “The kid’s done nothing wrong, I don’t see why you’re so gung-ho about whisking him out of here, he just wants to comfort his mum.” He listened for several seconds. “Well, that makes sense. But I’ve been all with the haunting for the last six years and it’s not like I’ve gotten bitter and angry, no more than I’ve always been anyways.” He stopped again. “Really? Well that is interesting.”

Sam’s lips quirked. “I’m really enjoying listening to your side of the conversation, but could you please tell us what the hell is going on?”

Dean grabbed his brother’s arm. “He’s talking to the reaper who came for me the day that Dad died.”

“That’s great. But what is he talking about?”

Dean blinked. “He hasn’t become a vengeful spirit. He still acts like a person. Ghosts aren’t supposed to be like that.”

Spike turned sharply towards Dean. “That’s right. She says it has to do with the amulet, that it stops me from fading.”

“She can’t take you,” said Dean.

“Not even if I asked nicely, she says.” He looked down. “But I have to go convince the boy to go with her.” Spike looked over Dean’s shoulder. “What the hell?” Both Sam and Dean turned and saw the black smoke sweep over them. Just as soon as it had appeared, it passed. “She’s gone!”

Dean waved his hands. “Fucking demons! Do you know where they took her?”

Spike pursed his lips. “Right before she scared him off, Cole said the black smoke was camped out in his funeral home. I’m willing to bet they took her back there.” He turned and started heading back to the car. “You two coming or what?” he shouted back.

Dean and Sam shared a look before running to catch up with Spike. He was sitting in the backseat of the Impala by the time they got there. “Hold up, Spike,” said Sam. “There’s never just one funeral home in this kind of town. How are we going to know which one the demons are holed up in?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Sun’s just edging towards the horizon, I’m sure we can try them all by moonrise.” He looked at Dean. “Just do a quick tour of the main drag; I’ll let you know if I see anything eldritch.” Dean mouthed the word ‘eldritch,’ his brow furrowing. “Anything creepy and other-worldly,” amended Spike.

“Right,” said Dean, turning over the engine. “Our little supernatural-detector,” he mused under his breath as he put the car into gear.

They were nearly out of twilight when Spike leaned over. “Stop the car,” he demanded. Dean hit the brakes, but when he turned back, Spike wasn’t in the backseat.

Sam peered through the back window and pointed. “He’s over there, staring at that building.” Dean parked the car on the street and they got out. They hadn’t made it three steps before Spike held up a hand.

“You lot can’t see this?”

“See what?” asked Sam.

Spike’s eyes were wide. “It’s lit up like a bloody Christmas tree with glowing sigils and symbols is what.” He took a couple of steps back. “I recognize the language. It’s Enochian.”

Dean nodded. “What’s it say?”

Spike shook his head. “I said I recognize the language, Dean-o, didn’t say I could read it. But you two better load up on those boomsticks you love so much, because it’s looking pretty forbidding from where I stand.”

Sam and Dean popped open the trunk. “He better not be making this shit up,” muttered Dean as he grabbed a sawed-off shotgun and began loading it with rock salt.

Sam looked back at Spike who appeared to be tracing one of the invisible sigils on the side of the wall with his hand. “Doesn’t look like he’s lying. And, hey, your plan’s working.” Sam smiled as Dean pressed the shotgun into his hands.

“Doesn’t mean I trust him.” Dean tucked his own shotgun under his coat. “He’s hiding something.” He slammed the trunk and gave his brother a dark look. “Lots of that going around lately.”

Sam bit his lip, shouldering his shotgun. “Are we really going to get into this now?”

“No,” murmured Dean, slipping Ruby’s knife in his belt. Behind Sam’s shoulder he could see the moon peeking out over the horizon. “Time to play big damn heroes.” He strode forward. “Lead on, Spike.”

Spike walked through the door before Sam could pick the lock, making Dean grunt, but Spike had only progressed a few steps forward when they got the door open. “Something wrong, blondie?” asked Dean in a low whisper.

“Remember that eldritch-thing I mentioned earlier? This place here is chock-full of it.” Spike’s eyes darted around as the floor creaked in the other room. Spike disappeared for a few seconds; when he reappeared he was holding a finger to his lips. He pointed to the doorway, mouthing the word ‘demon’. Dean nodded and slipped the knife out of his belt. He crept to the threshold, and Spike inclined his head to indicate the demon was just on the other side of the wall. Dean was able to slit the demon’s throat soundlessly, letting the host’s body fall forward onto him, and Dean deposited the corpse on the ground as warm blood smeared over his jacket.

“Any others?” whispered Sam.

“More than a couple,” said Spike. “Follow me.” Sam cradled his shotgun in his hands and let Dean go ahead of him, both of them stepping with care on the creaky wooden floors. With Spike’s surveillance, Dean was able to waste two more demons without raising the alarm. Finally, they arrived in the main parlor, a casket on the stage, but the main attraction was a large circular sigil laid out over the floor of the room. “Tessa and a creepy-looking guy are trapped in there,” breathed Spike.

Sam walked to the circle while Dean kept watch at the entryway. Sam tried to scuff the symbol out with his foot, but it was painted down. Crouching, Sam pulled out his pocket knife so that he could scratch the paint away. Before he could open the knife though, he found himself pushed up against the wall by demonic energy. A second later, Dean slammed into the wall next to him, Ruby’s knife clattering to the ground. Spike watched them, confused and helpless.

Alistair entered the parlor. “Ah, Dean, I see you’ve made a new friend.”

“You know me, I’m just a friendly guy,” replied Dean.

Alistair carried a wicked looking scythe and circled Spike. “Who are you?”

Spike tilted his head. “Nobody, I’m just passing through.” Alistair swung the scythe through him and he flickered out of sight as the blade cut through his form. When he reappeared, he looked furious.

“Passing through,” laughed Alistair. “I see.” He sauntered into the circle, noting as Sam struggled to raise his hand and exorcise him. “You’ve got no juice left, Sammy. You two just hang tight, I’ll take care of you in a second,” he said, apparently lifting something off the ground. He was interrupted when Spike lunged at him and disappeared into the host’s body, knocking him over. Sam felt the demon’s power relent and he and Dean both dropped to the ground. His eyes met Dean’s before he crawled forward, collecting his pocket knife and moving towards the circle. Dean grabbed Ruby’s knife and rushed Alistair, who was staggering across the room. Alistair batted Dean away and pushed Spike’s spirit out of him, Spike’s form flying across the room. “That’s a nasty trick you’ve got there,” Alistair groaned before Dean threw his body into the demon, rolling them across the floor.

Sam had reached the circle and managed to scrape a break in the paint. “No!” howled Alistair. Demonic power filled the room, and by the time Sam and Dean had recovered, Alistair was gone.

Spike emerged through the wall. “Where’d he go?” asked Dean, catching his breath.

Spike shook his head. “Don’t know.” He tilted his head towards the sigil. “Reapers are gone.”

“Good,” said Sam.

Dean got to his feet, tucking the knife back into his belt. “Any more demons in here?”

“No, they’ve cleared out. I think we’ve won this one,” said Spike.

Dean walked over to Spike. “How long have you known you could do that?”

Spike shrugged. “Didn’t know. But I had to try something. These demons you’ve got in this dimension are ugly fuckers, you know that?”

The ghost of a smile passed over Dean’s face. “That’s for damn sure.” He looked back at Sam, tossing the car keys at him. “You two head back to the motel. I’ll meet you there.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “What are you going to do?”

“Reapers are out working,” said Dean. “Lots of people in this town are dying tonight, because of what we just did.” He looked up at his brother. “I just need a walk. Clear my head, all right? It’s only a quarter mile to the motel, won’t kill me.”

Sam started to speak, but Spike cleared his throat. “Leave it, Sammy-boy.” Dean gave the ghost an appreciative nod as they left. Dean turned and walked out a back door in the parlor. He found Alistair in the alley.

“You ready to finish this tonight, Dean?”

Dean laughed bitterly. “Nothing I’d like better.” He brandished the knife, but a bolt of lightning came out of the clear sky to blast Alistair. Dean shielded his eyes from the light with his arm, and when he brought the arm down, Castiel stood where Alistair had been.

“You have done well, Dean.”

“Have I?” Dean leaned back against the wall of the building.

The angel’s face betrayed no emotion. “A seal has been saved by your efforts, and you have allowed us to capture the demon Alistair.”

“I take it you had something better to do earlier? Washing your hair?” asked Dean.

Castiel stepped forward. “The sigils on this building prevented us from interfering.”

Dean shook his head and looked down. “I figured as much. So we saved the day and it’s great because people still get to die.” He wiped his face with his hand. “What makes me so different, Cas? Why am I still here?”

Dean almost thought he saw a flash of regret in Castiel’s eyes. “You are… special.”

Dean shut his eyes. “That’s just great.” But when he opened his eyes again, he was alone.

~*~

Spike cleared his throat as they drove past Cole’s house. “Stop the car.” Sam looked over at him. “Please.” With a nod, Sam parked the Impala. “Just, wait here.”

“Okay.” Spike disappeared, leaving Sam in the car to fiddle with the radio.

Spike pulled his form back together in the living room, where Tessa and Cole were arguing. “You need to come with me now, Cole. You can’t help her anymore.”

“For someone who works with people, you have all the social skills of a thrown knife,” Spike told Tessa. She glared at him, but he ignored it, kneeling down to look Cole in the eye. “She’s right though, kiddo. Look at your mum.” Cole looked over at her, staring sightlessly at the album of photos in front of her. “Staying here is selfish. You think she’ll ever be able to move on with her life with you hanging about, flickering the lights and breaking crockery.”

Cole’s lower lip quivered. “She’s all alone,” he said.

“And she’ll stay alone so long as she thinks she can hold onto you by staying at home weeping all bloody day.” He laid a hand on Cole’s shoulder. “She won’t forget you. But no matter how long you stay here, she’ll never have you again, and you can’t do a damn thing about it.” He stood. “So go with the nice lady here. Let mum finish grieving, and maybe one day you’ll see each other on the other side.”

Cole looked over at Tessa. “What’s on the other side?”

“Can’t spoil the secret, Cole,” said Tessa.

Spike scoffed. “There is a heaven, and I don’t think you’ve had enough time in this plane to go anywhere else.” He recalled Buffy’s words. “You’ll be warm, and loved, and complete.”

Cole looked up at him. “Promise?”

“Promise,” said Spike.

Cole nodded and offered his hand to Tessa. She took it, and Cole’s spirit blinked out of existence. She glanced up at Spike. “Thank you.”

Spike shoved his hands in his pockets. “Not a problem. Sorry ‘bout the thrown knife thing, had to make the kid think I was on his side.”

“I understand.” She licked her lips. “We’re really not supposed to tell them where they’re going.”

Spike shrugged. “Maybe your job would be easier if you did.”

Tessa smiled, sadly. “Regulations, you know how bureaucracy can be. It was nice meeting you, Spike.”

“Wait.” Tessa turned towards him. “You seem to know a lot about me. You don’t happen to know why I’m here, do you?”

“Sorry, Spike. Regulations.”

“Right.” Tessa flashed out of sight, and with one last look at Cole’s mother, Spike returned to the Impala, where Sam had mercifully found a station playing The Clash rather than playing any of Dean’s hair bands.

“Everything all right?” asked Sam as he turned the engine over.

“Yeah, we’re all set.” Spike leaned back in the seat and sang along under his breath. “‘Straight to hell, boys, go straight to hell, boys.’”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during _On the Head of a Pin_.

It had been a long drive, and as he twisted the key in the lock to the latest motel room, Dean wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed. The last thing he wanted to see was a pair of angels standing in front of the twin beds. “Oh, come on!”

“You are needed,” intoned Uriel.

“Needed for what?” asked Spike, appearing behind the angels and pre-empting Dean’s comment. Both angels spun around to face him, Castiel then twisting back to cast a confused look at Dean.

“Who is this spirit?” he asked Dean.

Dean laughed, dropping his duffel on the floor. “Boy, for being lieutenants of the one and only all-powerful God, you two never seem to know anything useful.” He motioned to Sam to hand it over, and Sam produced the amulet, laying it in his brother’s hand. “This mean anything to you?”

Castiel approached them to examine it. “What is it?”

“It’s Spike’s home,” replied Sam. “His spirit’s attached to it. It’s apparently indestructible, and it burns demons.” Dean did a quick double take at this revelation, but it only broke his poker face for a moment. Castiel picked the amulet out of Dean’s grasp, cradling it reverently. Uriel’s eyes widened when he got a better look at the bauble.

“Pure, unalloyed creation,” Uriel breathed.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What, like an angel’s grace?”

Castiel tilted his head. “Yes. And no. This talisman, it is a conduit, not a container. But a faint residue remains.” He pressed the amulet to his nose, inhaling deeply. “And it is fresh,” he finished, offering to pass the amulet to Uriel.

Dean couldn’t tell if Uriel’s expression was triumphant or tragic. “This cannot be,” whispered Uriel.

“Could you two please be a little more vague?” asked Spike. If it were possible for a ghost to combust under the force of angelic glares, Spike would have in that moment. Castiel recovered first.

“The grace within angels is ancient. Billions of years old, as we are. This grace is new. Within the last ten years.” He traded a look with Uriel. “It has been much longer than that since our Father was last seen.”

Spike was surprised to learn that an angel could indeed lift a ghost, as Uriel hoisted him into the air by his underarms. “Have you seen Him, foolish spirit?”

Spike considered the question. “Is He a flash of light? Bone-searing impossible white light? Because I saw that. Right before I showed up in the middle of this god-forsaken boondocks dimension.” ‘God-forsaken’ hadn’t been the best choice of words perhaps, because Spike found himself flung backwards through the hotel wall, though fortunately the adjoining room was unoccupied. Spike gathered his wits and stood up to walk back through the wall to the other room. “Did I strike a nerve there, Huggy-Bear?”

Uriel lunged to grab Spike again, but Castiel intercepted him. “This changes things. If we could find our Father, speak directly to Him...” Castiel’s voice trailed off, and Uriel ceased straining. He pointed a finger at Spike.

“You will tell us where you saw our Father.”

Spike crossed his arms. “And what good will that do me?”

Dean glowered. “It might help, I dunno, avert the apocalypse, maybe?”

Spike snorted. “Maybe. That God’s always ineffable, never know what He’s got up His divine sleeve. No, I’m thinking short term. I want a body.” He brushed his duster off with the backs of his hands. “This body. I want it back. I’m sick of this Casper routine.” Spike nodded to himself. “Oh, and a pack of smokes.”

Uriel contained his anger poorly. “You _dare_ to presume-” but once again Castiel intervened.

“I can see no harm in granting this request. And besides, there is more than sufficient grace in this conduit to provide what you ask.” Castiel took the amulet back from Uriel, gripping it tighter for a moment while holding up his hand. “There.”

Spike laughed. “‘There’ what?” Then he tilted his head back and it whacked into the wall. “Ow.” Sam and Dean couldn’t repress their grins. Spike shot them a dirty look, then started patting his pockets. As promised, a pack of Morleys was in his left pocket. He lit one and inhaled luxuriantly. “That’s better.” He ignored the dirty looks that the brothers Winchester were now directing at him and leaned back against the wall. “So, what would you like to know?”

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “You already know the question.”

“Fine. If it was indeed God, as you lot seem to think it was, then I was in a cave beneath the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, California. The First Evil had opened the gate to Hell and all sorts of nasty beasts were climbing out. Fortunately, I had an army of Slayers with me who helped beat the beasties back. Then that little trinket, which was around my neck at the time, started to heat up. I told the Slayers to clear out, and that blinding white light consumed me, and the cave, and sealed off Hell to be fended off another day.” Spike took another drag and blew out a smoke ring that Castiel wiped away from his face.

“There is no such town as Sunnydale in California,” said Castiel.

Spike grinned. “Not on this world, no. But where I’m from, well, there used to be one anyway.”

Uriel grunted. “You mean to say that you are from another world?”

“I do believe I already said that, mate.” Spike flicked a column of ash in the angels’ direction.

“And how did you arrive here?” asked Castiel.

Spike licked his lips. “I was delivered. U.S. Mail. No return address included, I’m afraid, Peaches.”

Castiel turned to the Winchesters. Sam nodded. “We have the envelope in the car somewhere.”

Spike walked over to the bathroom and doused the end of his cigarette butt under the faucet before depositing it in the trash. “So, let me just lay this all out for you. Your absent Dad, who’s apparently found planes more interesting than this one to play about in, no real trick that, and who no doubt knew in His omniscient way that your world was headed towards apocalypse, decided that what you lot needed was me.” Spike cracked his neck to one side and flexed his fingers. “Of course, I appreciate the way He asked if I felt like it, but nevermind. Point me to the violence, and I’ll take care of things.”

Uriel sniffed. “And why would our Father send you without sending us revelation?”

“Maybe He didn’t know who He could trust,” said Spike. “Other than the painfully trustworthy Winchesters here. Look how earnest they are.” The brothers in question looked more wrathful than trustworthy as he said it, but Spike was on a roll now. “Anyway, you mentioned that they were needed. What for?”

Castiel spoke first. “Angels are dying. Seven from our garrison have been killed, and we don’t know how.”

Spike arched his eyebrows. “Really? And you thought the brothers clueless could shed some light on the subject? Your tender faith is, well, it’s touching.”

“We have captured the demon Alistair,” continued Castiel, apparently not acknowledging Spike’s condescension. “But we need an interrogator. Dean is the most effective that we know.”

Light danced in Spike’s eyes, while Dean flinched. “Well, well. Looks like it’s your lucky day. Dollars to doughnuts, I’ve had more practice at it than the pup.” He glanced up at Dean. “They wanted you to torture again, and well, I’ve heard more than enough of your whinging about that than to wish a repeat performance.”

Uriel shook his head. “We are here for Dean.”

“Dean’s standing right here, and I don’t plan on torturing anyone,” growled Dean.

“And you got me instead.” Spike let out a bark of laughter. “What’s the boy had: ten years experience behind the flogger? I was torturing folk long before he was even a misbegotten glint in his father’s eye.” He took a few steps closer to Uriel. “Unless you specifically wanted young Dean here to suffer the indignity of returning to his least favorite habits? But then you’re angels, not sadists, right?”

Uriel huffed. “You will do.”

Spike grinned. “Excellent. Before we’re off, Dean, Sam, a word please?” He walked out of the room, and the brothers followed behind him, Sam shutting the door. “There’s something deeply wrong with this.”

“What, you mean them wanting me to torture, or you being eager to? ” asked Dean.

“Won’t be the first time I took one for the team, Dean,” said Spike.

Dean’s nostrils flared. “How the hell have you had so much experience torturing people? I thought you were some kind of hero, not some psycho sadist.”

“Plenty about me you don’t know, and don’t want to.” Spike shoved his hands in his pockets. “Sam, you said Ruby’s on her way?”

Sam nodded. “That’s right.”

“Good. See if she knows what can kill an angel.” Spike’s eyes flickered to the door. “Dean, you might want to call that Bobby fellow, see if he has any ideas either.”

Dean pursed his lips. “Why do you want to know that?”

Spike sighed. “Because you don’t entirely trust our feathered friends and neither do I.”

“Cas is all right,” said Dean.

“And Uriel?” asked Sam. Dean looked from Sam to Spike, exhaled , and then nodded.

Spike turned directly to Dean. “Anything special I should know about Alistair?”

“He’s the demon you met back in Greybull. He’s a sadistic bastard. Head of the torture division down in the Pit, from what I saw.” Dean looked down before continuing. “You’re going to have to be creative.”

“Don’t worry too much about that.” Spike turned and put his hand on the handle. “One last thing I’ve been wondering about and you should too: is there a list of these seals anywhere? And if so, why haven’t the angels or Ruby given it to you?” He glanced back. “Good luck, boys.” With that, he reentered the hotel room, closing the door behind him. Sam and Dean were only a few seconds behind him, but by the time they got in, Spike and the angels had disappeared.

“Damn it,” muttered Sam.

~*~

Spike took in his new surroundings. “An abattoir? You sure aren’t ones for subtlety, are you?”

Uriel was getting better at controlling his temper with Spike. “You’ll find your subject on the other side of that door,” he pointed.

“We haven’t much time,” said Castiel. “You will find the necessary... implements on that cart.”

Spike smirked. “So you’ll get your hands just that bit dirty. Good to know.” He walked over to the cart and started wheeling it over to the steel door, whistling ‘The Irish Rover’ quietly to himself. “See you on the other side, gentlemen.” He swung the door open and pushed the cart through, the door slamming shut loudly behind him. Spike stopped the cart just short of the circle chalked on the ground and surveyed his quarry.

Alistair was strapped to what appeared to be a cast iron six-pointed star. He was staring at Spike. “You found a body.”

Spike shrugged off his duster and hung it from a convenient hook. “That I did.”

“What are you?” Alistair looked him up and down. “I don’t think I’ve met your kind before.”

“You catch on quick, you do.” Spike found a stool overturned in a corner and set it up just outside of the circle, brushing off the top of it before sitting. “I thought we could have a chat.”

Alistair’s eyes narrowed. “‘A chat?’” he echoed. “What about?”

Spike allowed his eyes to glint yellow as he lit a cigarette. “Angels.”

~*~

“I’m tellin’ ya, Dean, even the tiny bit of literature I’ve got that supposes angels exist doesn’t say a damn thing about killing them,” groused Bobby from the other end of the line. “Nobody on our side would _want_ to kill one. I hate to say it, but that demon witch your brother likes so well is going to be your best source on this.”

Dean rubbed his eyes. “Okay, fine. What about a list of the seals?”

He could hear the heavy thump of a book hitting Bobby’s desk. “That’s less impossible but still tricky. There’s not a list so much as every once in awhile somebody mentions a prophecy in the middle of a text. Finding all six hundred-odd of them is gonna be a bitch.”

Dean grinned. “Johnny Walker Black?”

Bobby grunted, “Green,” and hung up. Dean chuckled to himself as he tucked the phone away. On the other side of the room, to Dean’s pleasure, Sam and Ruby were speaking in raised voices.

“If there’s not a list, how the hell do you always know when we’re dealing with a seal?” demanded Sam, looming over the demon.

“I pay attention. I listen to demon gossip. If you haven’t noticed, every time I’ve told you that there’s a seal in danger, I’m always one of the last ones to the party. That’s because I’ve been busy finding out that there’s a seal getting broken!” Ruby’s eyes glinted black.

Sam faltered then turned. “Well, Lilith must have a list to be working off of.”

Ruby snorted. “Sure, Spike says it, so it must be true.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why so trusting all of a sudden, Sam? What’s that ghost got on you?”

“He ain’t got crap on Sam,” said Dean. “He’s an ass. But he’s got a point. We’ve been going about this whole apocalypse thing all wrong.”

Ruby clenched her fists. “I already told you. There’s more than six-hundred possible seals! You can’t just pick one or two and stand guard in front of them. Especially now that they’re more than halfway through.”

“Which is just proof that our current strategy isn’t working,” said Sam. “The angels obviously don’t have this situation under control. We need to at least try.”

“The current strategy isn’t working because you haven’t been concentrating enough on finding and killing Lilith. If you kill her, you don’t have to worry about seals,” countered Ruby.

It was Dean’s turn to scoff. “Because there’s no way that another demon would pop up to replace her. Oh, wait – how long did it take her to replace Azazel? Because I don’t think we got two minutes of breathing room after the last time we killed the biggest, baddest demon.”

Ruby glared at Dean. “Lilith is special. She’s the first demon, the first human that Lucifer seduced. Demons don’t come any bigger or badder than that.” Ruby sighed heavily. “Kill Lilith and this all ends. I don’t know to make it any easier for you to understand.”

Sam pursed his lips. “Sure. Fine.”

Dean shook his head. “You make it sound so simple. So what’s your grand plan for killing Lilith? You happen to know what she did with the Colt? Because your little pig sticker didn’t do jack to Alistair, and if she’s as big and bad as you say, it’ll be lucky to give her a vague tickling sensation.” Ruby and Sam exchanged a look. “Oh, no. We’ve been down this road. And it is the road of No. Fucking. Way.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” asked Sam.

“_Anything_ is a better idea than that,” said Dean. “Anyway, if you’re the one that’s going to kill Lilith and stop the apocalypse, then why’d the damned angels bother bringing me back?” He raised his hands as Sam jutted his chin out. “There’s got to be another way. One that doesn’t turn you into a monster.” Dean felt a moment’s regret as Sam flinched at the words, taking cold comfort in the truth of his statement.

Ruby groaned in frustration. “We don’t have time to find another way.”

“Quick and convenient doesn’t equal good or right,” said Dean. “And I don’t like the kind of pressure you’re putting on my brother to throw away his humanity.”

“I’m pressuring him because I’m trying to save humanity. As in, you know, all six billion of you?” She put her hands on her hips. “Sam, are you seriously going to let him make this decision for you? For the world?”

Sam’s brow furrowed as his gaze jumped back and forth between the two of them, words stuck in his throat. “I – there’s – at least-” Finally he settled on Ruby. “I don’t want to be a monster.”

Her eyes shut. “I can’t believe this.” After a moment she opened them and then grabbed her jacket of the bed, heading out the door. “Give me a call when you’ve learned to be a man. If the world hasn’t ended first.” The walls shook with the force of her door slamming.

Dean smiled at his brother, but Sam’s look remained dark. “We’ve got a month. We don’t come up with a better plan by then, and I’m calling her.” Dean opened his mouth to object, but Sam cut him off. “I am not worth more than the world, Dean. And whatever your angel pals say, I _do_ have the power to stop Lilith. I don’t want to be a monster, but if that’s what it takes, then I will do it. And there’s nothing you, or Bobby, or Spike can say that’s going to change my mind.” Dean tilted his head at the inclusion of Spike in that list then Sam held up a finger. “One month, Dean. That’s it.” A shudder crept up Sam’s spine. “And I hope to God that we’ve got that much time left.”

Dean nodded. “Right. She have any idea of how to kill angels?” Sam shook his head. Dean glanced down at the laptop. “So, research then?”

Sam gave him a weary look then slumped into a chair, opening up the laptop. “Get some rest, Dean. You look like shit.”

Dean sat on the closer bed and pulled off his boots. “I’m not the only one.”

A hint of a smile pulled at Sam’s lips. “Yeah, well, it could be worse.”

Dean sighed, stretching out on the bed. “True.” Visions of Alistair on the rack flashed through his mind. “How much trouble do you think Spike can get into with Alistair and the angels?”

“You really want to know the answer to that question?” asked Sam with a chuckle.

“You’re probably right.” Dean let his eyelids slide shut and listened to the sounds of his brother typing. “It can wait until morning.” A few seconds later, Dean was asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finishes up this universe's version of _On the Head of a Pin_.

Spike really despised the sound of Alistair’s laugh, but that wasn’t stopping the demon. “Why? What’s your interest in angels?” Alistair took his time enunciating that last word.

“The fact that anything related to that word seems to exist in order to irritate me, for starters. Then again, you irritate me too.” Spike looked upwards, towards the heavens for a moment. “Things that don’t bug me will make it out of this whole ordeal in much better shape than things that do.” He took a long drag, blowing the smoke towards the demon when he finished.

Alistair looked at him through heavy lidded eyes. “You don’t seem so scary to me.”

Spike allowed a brief smile to cross his face. “I don’t, do I? But then, you remember, that I’m a little bit of the unknown, crossing into your world.” Spike stood and started walking around the circle. “Con-men – grifters, we called them back in the day, well, they liked to think they knew all the angles. Add just a dash of the unknown, and they’d have to back right off the con. Too risky. Better to wait and find another set of suckers than to risk the unknown element.” Spike completed the circle and laid his hands on the side of the cart. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Alistair?”

Alistair sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Spike laughed. “But isn’t that what I just said?” He finished the cigarette and ground out the butt underneath his foot. “So, instead, I’d like to ask you what you know about angels. In particular, I’m wondering if you know how to kill the miserable bastards.”

Alistair’s lips thinned and he glanced at the door. “Any particular reason you’d like to kill your current allies?”

“Who said I was their ally?”

Alistair inclined his head towards Spike. “Well, you are on the other side of that circle, armed with that, ah, nasty looking cart.”

“Mmm, that’s true.” Spike pulled the tarp off the cart and began digging around in it. For whatever reason, a large bottle of Jim Beam was on the bottom level: must have been from Castiel in order to steel Dean’s resolve. Spike wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He opened the bottle and took a good, long swig from it. He looked at Alistair, who was staring at him, then took another long drink. “Bourbon,” mused Spike. “It’s one of the few things these Yanks got right. Do you-” Spike tilted the bottle towards Alistair, but then withdrew it.

“You’d have to cross into this devil’s trap, which I notice you’ve been ever so very careful not to do,” said Alistair.

Spike nodded and took another drink. “Bloody rules. Haven’t sussed them out yet, you see.” He lit another cigarette. “Damned Winchesters and their bloody salt circles. Where I’m from, the demons would be using the stuff to season the boys’ entrails, but that shit does seem to do the trick in these parts. I’m just not willing to risk it, mate, not yet, sorry.”

“And where are you from, exactly?”

Spike turned to face Alistair directly. “I do believe I’m the one not currently chained to a religious symbol, so I’ll be asking the questions, thank you ever so very much.” Alistair looked away. “You’re waging this war, breaking all of these seals, all to free the devil, and that’s great. Everyone needs to have a hobby. Where do you find out about those seals?”

Alistair shifted under his bonds. “It is written, if you know where to look.”

Spike waved the cigarette. “Right, right, probably a bad idea to leave the manual for ending the world lying open on the coffee table. How long’s this little war been going on, anyway?” said Spike around the butt of the cigarette, his hands busy assembling something on the cart.

“Long as any of us can remember,” said Alistair. He couldn’t quite make out what Spike was doing.

Spike looked back at him and stepped away from the cart. “Half the pleasure’s in the anticipation,” said Spike.

“Not much you can do, standing out there.”

Spike laughed. “And Dean said that you were creative, down in the Pit. Lad doesn’t have much imagination himself, I’ll grant you. Loyal little soldier boy, that’s our Dean.” Spike finished his cigarette. “Said you were the head of the torture division down there.” Alistair looked down, saying nothing. “He’s not half bad a detective though: he was right about that. What did he do, to earn your special attention?” Alistair gave no visible response. “Sam couldn’t deal his brother’s way out, and the way he looked at you, back at the funeral home, that’s a very special sort of hatred. You must have worked him over hard. And I admit, I’ve been getting my kicks needling the pup for weeks now, but I don’t have an agenda. You definitely do.” Spike lifted a thin tube to his lips and blew through it. A needle pierced Alistair’s arm and he shouted in shock. “That holy water is nasty stuff, isn’t it? Why did Dean matter so much?”

Alistair glared at Spike. “And it is written, that a righteous man shall spill blood in hell, and the first seal will be broken.”

Spike smiled. “That was easy. Of course, you sort of wanted to tell me that. Figure it’ll lower my opinion of the boy, which is funny considering how I already think of the brat.” Spike chuckled and blew two more darts at Alistair. “This is kind of fun.”

Alistair glowered. “I rather think you’re missing the point of torture for interrogation. You ask a question first, then you fire the dart when I don’t answer.”

A noise caught Spike’s attention and he walked over to the side of the circle. Alistair couldn’t see what he did from there, but he heard the sound of metal scraping against metal. “I’m afraid you’ve misread my intentions, pet. It’s the angels out there who want me to interrogate you – well, actually, what they really wanted was for Dean to be doing it, which I’m sure would have been loads of laughs for all of us.” Spike pushed the cart forward so that it straddled the devil’s trap. “Problem with that is that I’m reasonably certain you don’t know a damn thing about the question.” Spike licked his lips. “Hard man like you, likes the violence, hates those winged pillocks – if you had any idea about how to kill angels you’d’ve had time for nothing else in your day.” Alistair’s eyes widened at this and Spike smirked at having his guess confirmed. “But they sent me in here nonetheless. At least one of ‘em knows exactly how much nothing you know, so I’ve got to put on a good show. And when you get back down to the Pit, you can tell them all about dear ol’ Spike, who likes these humans and all the entertainment they provide, and doesn’t take kindly to the folk who hate the game so much they’d rather smash the board.” Spike grabbed a silver spike off the cart. “That is, if you ever make it back down there.” Exhaling, Spike hopped into the circle then took a quick step out. “Hey, look at that. Guess I’m not as much like you as you’d hoped. All that caution for nothing.” He strode forward and cupped Alistair’s stubbled chin in his hand. “For this part, though, I’m gonna need you to scream.” He buried the spike in the joint of Alistair’s left shoulder and the demon howled in pain. “Much obliged.”

~*~

Castiel had spent some time in hell, working his way through to rescue Dean. He remembered all too well the shrieks and screams of agony that were hell’s auditory wallpaper. The wailing of the damned haunted him when he wasn’t thinking directly of his orders; fortunately, most of the time he concentrated on his Father’s Will and he didn’t have to think about them.

Another unearthly howl came from the other side of the door. The noise sounded different when he heard it through human ears, and Castiel could feel his body’s urge to cover his ears or simply to flinch. Castiel ignored these reflexes, content that the entity making the noises had been the one causing so many of the screams he’d heard in hell. The blood flowing through the host’s veins wasn’t actually any colder, no matter how it felt.

Uriel hadn’t been part of the raid on hell. His body displayed no reaction to the screams of pain that had become near constant these last fifteen minutes. “The creature Spike was not lying about his abilities,” said Uriel.

“No,” said Castiel, “it appears not.”

Uriel stepped closer. “Do you believe what he said about our Father?”

Curses about their Father were being shouted loudly on the other side of the door. “Can you argue with the grace present in the amulet? Spike was touched by our Father, whether he saw Him or not.”

Uriel grimaced. “Why would our Father allow an entity that unclean into His Presence?”

“If you will recall, the Son had some interest in the unclean as well. ‘Do not call anything impure that God has made clean,’” quoted Castiel.

“We are not speaking here of tax collectors, whores, or shellfish; we are speaking of a malevolent force foreign to our world, foreign to heaven, hardly discernible from that which we know is demonic.” Another roaring howl interrupted their conversation. Uriel turned away from Castiel. “I find myself troubled by these developments. I shall seek revelation.” With a flutter of wings, Uriel disappeared.

Castiel was honest with himself: he too was troubled by these developments. But the creature Spike had prevented Dean from suffering; that had to count for something. And despite the quasi-demonic stain that permeated every fiber of Spike’s being – Castiel had been unable to expel it when he recreated Spike’s body – there was a soul behind those blue eyes. The nature of that soul was all but inscrutable, save for an overwhelming sense of determination. Exactly what the soul was determined to do, however, remained unclear to Castiel.

Castiel lost himself in thought for quite a long time, until the screaming ceased for a few seconds, and the metal door swung open, slamming shut behind Spike who had a lit cigarette dangling from his lips and blood covering his hands. “My pal Alistair needs a little time to collect his thoughts. Know where a bloke could get a quick wash-up, Peaches?”

Castiel pointed to a basin in the corner of the room. “Why do you call me Peaches?”

Spike laughed as he turned on the spigot. “‘Cause of your lovely complexion, mate. Funny thing, them keeping the water turned on in an abandoned slaughterhouse like this. Works out just fine for me, mind you.” Spike turned the water off and wiped his hands off on his pants. “Where’s your grumpy friend?”

“Uriel has gone to seek revelation,” said Castiel. “How goes the interrogation?”

Spike’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, just dandy. So we’re here all by our lonesomes?”

Castiel inclined his head. “That is correct.”

“You’re Cas then. Dean talks about you some. And you’re the one drew all those doodles on the floor in chalk?” Spike flecked some ash away.

“Yes,” said Castiel. “They are the strongest Solomon keys in existence.” Spike was staring Castiel down, but that didn’t bother the angel. He simply stared back. After a few seconds Spike relented, or perhaps he had seen what he was looking for. “Has the demon revealed anything about how they are killing my brethren?”

“Some.” There was that stare again. “But in order to know whether he’s telling me lies, I just wanted to ask you: do you know how to kill an angel?”

Castiel blinked. “As I said before, I know of no method available to a demon, no.”

“But you know of ways available to…” Spike tilted his head, but Castiel remained silent. “Interesting.” He dropped the cigarette butt in the basin, wiping his hands together. “Well, I’d better get back to work then. Cheers, Cas.” Spike opened the door again, making Alistair’s hoarse moans audible for a few moments before the door shut, leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts. Castiel would not refer to them as doubts.

~*~

A small weight pressed down on the end of the bed. As comforting as the darkness behind his eyelids was, Dean opened his eyes, his hand automatically reaching for the pistol underneath his pillow. The gun was unnecessary, though, he realized as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes. “Anna? Is this a dream?” Dean sat up against the headboard.

Anna shook her head. “No, Dean, I’m really here.”

“Found a vessel that looks just like your old body,” said Dean, remembering the feel of that body before shaking his head, wondering if that counted as some kind of special blasphemy.

Anna smiled as she watched the train of thought roll through Dean’s head. “I called in a few favors, got my body back.”

“Looks good – you look good.” Dean wanted to slap himself, but he’d never had a one night-stand come back to haunt him quite like this before. At least he’d fallen asleep with all of his clothes on: facing Anna half-naked would have been way more than he could ask for his brain to process at this point.

“Thank you.”

“So, uh, what’s going on?” His eyes flickered over to the other bed, where his brother slept peacefully for once, an angel watching over him.

Anna pursed her lips. “I had heard some unpleasant rumors. I came here to prevent them from taking place, and was happy to find that I was misinformed. Figured while I was here I would say ‘hi’ to some old friends.”

Dean shifted his weight on the bed. “That’s cool. Those rumors have anything to do with Cas and Uriel showing up here tonight, asking me to go torture Alistair for them?”

Anna’s eyes darkened. “They did.” She turned to face Dean. “But you’re not with them. What happened?” Dean told Anna about how they’d found Spike, and how Spike had volunteered to take Dean’s place. As he finished, he remembered Spike’s last questions to them. “Anna, you don’t know anything about a list of seals, do you? I mean, it’s such an obvious question, but we’ve been so caught up in this whole thing, it never occurred to us to ask.”

Anna looked upward. “I was actually more attuned to the heavenly host while I was human, Dean. I’m in hiding, now. My brethren are hunting me even as we speak, and there are precious few of them whom I may trust. And even before, though I commanded a garrison, I was not among the ranks of those privileged with that kind of information. So I do not have such a list as you ask for, not at present.”

Dean leaned forward. “Could you get it, maybe?”

Anna nodded. “I will try. Even though I have my doubts, it pains me to watch this war, to see my brothers and sisters dying.”

“Not used to that sort of thing?” asked Dean. Anna’s bitten lips confirmed it. “Angels are hard to kill.”

“The last time so many died was in Lucifer’s rebellion. It was before I had experienced humanity, before I understood sorrow like I do now.” Anna’s eyes glimmered with the beginnings of tears.

Dean moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, daring to take the angel’s narrow shoulders in his hands. “So, the only thing you know of that’s ever killed angels in battle is other angels?”

The tears in Anna’s eyes dried out as she processed what Dean was saying. “Yes. Only other angels.” Their gazes met. “It can’t be-”

Dean stood. “It’s the only thing that makes any sense.” He grabbed his brother’s arm. “Sam, Sammy, wake up.”

“Wstfgl?”

“Wake up, get dressed, Anna’s gonna take us and the car to wherever Cas and Spike have disappeared off to.” Dean looked back at Anna. “You can do that, right?”

Anna stood too. “Yes, I know where they are – but what are you going to do?”

“Warn Cas.”

~*~

Blood-shot eyes looked up wearily at Spike while he wiped the blade of the knife clean. “Put on enough of a show yet, Spike?” Alistair muttered.

“That should about do it for now, mate.” Spike put the knife down on the cart. “But look at you, all covered in blood and gore like that. Let me clean you up a bit.” Spike took the remaining jug of holy water and poured it over the demon, smoke issuing from the battered flesh while Alistair screamed. “Stunned you still have the voice to make all that racket,” he said as he tossed the jug aside. He grabbed the bottle of Jim Beam and the duster off of its hook, slung it over his arm and headed for the door.

“When I get out of here, I will find you,” wheezed Alistair.

“Join the queue.” Spike exited to find Uriel had returned and looking ever so slightly surprised to see Spike. Spike headed over to the basin to wash up before donning his coat. The nearest exit was through the window about ten feet overhead, and there was a door in the far corner that looked to lead outside. For the time being, Spike decided to keep Castiel between him and the larger figure, and hoped to hell that he’d read Cas right earlier. “I’ve got what you need,” said Spike.

Castiel turned. “He has revealed how they are killing the angels?”

Spike took a long drink. “It’s amazing what you can find out when you show a man his own small intestine.”

Castiel blinked at this information but Uriel didn’t. “There were no unforeseen complications in your work,” said Uriel.

“Not a one.” Spike shrugged. “Told you I was good at this bit.”

“So how is he doing it?” asked Castiel.

“It’s an involved process, ‘s’got chanting in and a sword forged from the iron in the blood of a thousand sinners,” said Spike before taking another drink. “Really, quite ingenious. That bint Lilith’s behind it, but I suspected you already knew that.”

“We thought as much,” said Castiel. Uriel remained silent, but moved closer behind Castiel.

Spike nodded and looked around. “Well, you lot should probably get on with killing Lilith, then. You didn’t have me asking how to kill demons, so I presume you already know how to do that.”

The corners of Uriel’s mouth turned up. “We do, Spike.”

Castiel realized that Spike and Uriel were staring at each other as though he wasn’t even there. “Uriel, you must report this information to our garrison.”

Spike arched his eyebrows. “That’s right, Uriel, go spread the good word.”

“I would, except I think you are a liar and a blasphemy against creation,” said Uriel.

Spike snorted. “And what makes you say that?” He took a few steps to the left, keeping his eyes on the angels. Uriel looked primed to charge, but was distracted when the Winchester brothers ran in from the exit that Spike had been eyeing.

“Cas!” shouted Dean. “It’s a trap!” Castiel turned towards Sam and Dean, so he didn’t see what Spike saw: Uriel pulling something out of his jacket.

Not eager to find out what it was, Spike rushed him, pushing Castiel aside and getting a hole in his gut for the trouble. Spike fell to his knees as Uriel withdrew the blade. Sam and Dean stopped short, and Castiel simply stared at the sword in Uriel’s hand. “Feeling… a little, guilty… there?” gasped Spike. “I mean, are you worried Daddy’s going to find out what you’ve been up to?”

“What have you done, Uriel?” breathed Castiel.

“The existence of this abomination proves nothing!” raged Uriel, running Spike through once more. This time when he pulled the sword out Spike fell onto his back. To Castiel’s surprise Spike was laughing as bright red blood bubbled out of his lips. Sam reached Uriel first and tried to wrestle the sword away from Uriel and was thrown across the room. Dean got in a few good punches before Uriel slammed him to the ground. Uriel raised the sword again, this time over Dean, but finally Castiel reacted, grabbing Uriel’s wrist and pushing him back up into the wall.

“The only thing that can kill an angel is another angel,” rasped Dean as he got up to his feet.

Castiel looked up at Uriel’s eyes. “Why would you do such a thing?” He squeezed his brother’s wrists until the sword clattered to the ground.

“Lucifer was right,” said Uriel before he slammed his head into Castiel’s. Castiel stumbled backwards. “Our Father abandoned us long before he left this world.” Uriel reached for the sword but Castiel recovered and threw himself into Uriel. Together the angels tumbled across the floor. Uriel eventually rolled to the top and slammed his fist into Castiel’s face. “He loved these flawed mud men more than He ever loved us, His more perfect creations.” With a wave of his hand, Uriel swept Dean and Sam back off of their feet. “I had hoped to argue some sense into you, Castiel, but you feel for them even more than He did, don’t you?” Uriel knocked Castiel’s head into the cement three times before standing up. He looked over, but the sword was gone. “Wha-”

The sword through his throat stopped Uriel’s exclamation, and the last thing he heard was Anna’s voice. “You make that sound like a bad thing.” Uriel’s body fell to the floor and Anna closed her eyes. “It’s not, Castiel.”

Castiel pushed himself into a sitting position with his elbows. “Hello, Anna. Thank you for saving me.”

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Thank Dean: he’s the one who figured it out.”

Dean was levering himself back to his feet by the wall. “Not a problem. Couldn’t have done it without Spike.” Dean looked over, and Sam was already crouched over the stricken Spike. “Shit.”

Sam examined the damage. The two wounds in Spike’s stomach continued to bleed. “Spike, you don’t look so good,” said Sam. He pulled off his sweatshirt and pressed it against the wide gashes.

Spike spat a gob of blood to the side. “It’ll take more than that to kill the likes of me.” His eyes met Dean’s. “So long as the pillock didn’t ruin my coat.”

Anna and Castiel joined Dean in standing over Spike. “Heal him already, Cas. He got those holes keeping you from getting skewered from behind.”

Castiel shook his head. “My powers will not be effective here: he is not human.”

Anna stared down. “What is he?”

Sam looked up at them then looked down to avoid Dean’s eyes. “He’s a kind of vampire.”

“What?” Dean took a step back. “If he’s a vampire, shouldn’t he be fine? Uriel didn’t exactly take off his head.”

“I don’t know,” muttered Sam.

Anna raised the sword in her hand. “This is a holy relic. If he is a vampire, he may have difficulty healing from the wounds that it delivers.”

“Blood,” coughed Spike. “I haven’t fed in six years, that’s the real problem. We’re in a bloody slaughterhouse, find some swine blood or something.”

Sam looked around. “Looks like we’re in an abandoned slaughterhouse, Spike, not so much with the fresh blood here.” Sam considered his own arm before offering it. “Just take a little, you’ll be fine.”

Spike’s eyes flickered yellow and he sniffed before shaking his head. “Can’t. Not yours.”

Sam swallowed hard as he met Spike’s look. It was probably best not to risk mixing his own demon–tainted blood with Spike’s. Sam looked up. “Dean, it’s gonna have to be you.”

“What?” Dean’s eyes widened. “You want me to feed a vampire?”

“I’m sort of bleeding out here, Dean, and I did save your angel pal.” Spike smiled weakly. “That’s got to count for something, right?”

Dean pursed his lips. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” But he was kneeling down and pulling his knife out of his belt. “I feel any teeth or tongue on my arm and I will take your head off with this,” said Dean.

“You got it.” Spike lifted his head up and Dean made a shallow slice across his forearm. At the smell of the blood, Spike’s face changed, morphing into a lumpy form that really did look demonic. With one last second of hesitation, Dean allowed Spike to press his mouth over the cut. Vampires really did suck, and everyone watched in silent horrified fascination at the spectacle. After several long moments it was too much for Dean to take and he pulled his arm away. Spike let his head fall back, his face returning to normal.

Sam removed the bloodied shirt and found Spike’s wounds knitting themselves back together. “Nice trick you’ve got there,” he breathed.

Spike sat up. “It comes in handy every now and then.” He stood, offering Dean a hand up, which Dean didn’t take. Spike’s eyes flickered to the bloody knife in Dean’s other hand. “If you’re going to use that on me now, at the very least you’ll need to be standing up.” With a grunt, Dean accepted Spike’s assistance. “Thanks, Dean.” The two stepped away from each other, not quite willing to look the other in the eye.

Sam rose to his feet. “Is everyone okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Anna. She looked over at Castiel, who still had a far away stare. “Castiel, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known that Uriel had fallen like that.”

Castiel looked over at her. “Why should I have not?” He lowered his head. “I have been blind to many things recently.” He looked at Dean, but found no answers in the other man’s face.

Spike cleared his throat. “Alistair’s still trapped in the other room. You should probably take care of that.”

Castiel ducked his head. “You are right.”

The others followed him into the next room, Sam and Dean’s eyes widening. “Oh my God,” said Sam, feeling vomit rise up in his throat. Alistair was covered in gore, and unless Sam was mistaken, missing an ear, two or three fingers, and several stretches of skin. Dean’s own stomach clenched at the sight, but it was one all too familiar from Hell.

“Gang’s all here,” wheezed Alistair. His gaze settled on Dean. “Fine company you keep these days. Didn’t even ask me any questions while he did all this.”

Spike grunted. “And I’m sure you stop torturing when you get the right answers in hell. What are you waiting for, Cas? Exorcise him and heal the host’s body.”

Alistair snorted. “Remember what I said, Spike.”

“Give my love to the Pit.”

Castiel looked at Spike with a hint of disgust in his eyes before raising his hand. He crossed into the Solomon’s key and pressed his fingers against the bloody brow. After chanting a few incantations, black smoke poured from the body’s orifices and sank back down to hell. Another incantation and Castiel felt the power of the heavenly host flow through him, healing the stricken form before him. Castiel granted the poor soul unconsciousness to shield him from these horrors.

Spike was the first to step forward and begin untying the man’s bonds. Anna waved a hand and the chains fell away. The man slumped over and Spike shouldered the body. He turned to face his companions, none of whom looked very pleased with him. Spike rolled his eyes. “All’s well that ends well, mates.” He marched toward the doors. “Let’s get this man somewhere he’ll be able to wake up in slightly less terror.” With that, Spike walked out the door.

Castiel looked at Anna. “You should go. Otherwise, I will have to report you.”

She nodded. “I’m taking the sword.” To Dean’s surprise, Castiel did not object, and with one last look at the Winchesters, Anna fluttered out of their lives.

Castiel turned away. “I must report to my garrison.”

“Are you sure you can trust them?” asked Sam. “I mean, if Uriel got to them…”

Castiel nodded. “I will report this to a higher authority. But it must be done quickly.” Then he too was gone.

Dean looked over at his brother. “You knew Spike was a vampire? A weird-ass, lumpy vampire.”

“Yeah,” Sam admitted.

“More fucking secrets.” Dean shook his head and headed out the door. Sam followed a few seconds later. Outside the abattoir, Spike was loading Alistair’s former host into the backseat of the Impala.

“You’ll get him someplace safe?” Spike asked Dean.

Dean nodded. “We can do that.”

“Good.” Spike turned away. “I have your number. If I find something out, I know how to reach you.”

“Wait!” called out Sam. “Where are you going?”

Spike sighed, lighting a cigarette. “I’ve got about forty-five minutes until dawn, and I’ve got to find someplace dark to wait it out. I can’t very well ride around in that car during daylight, and I don’t see Dean-o here letting me black out the windows on his baby.”

Dean pursed his lips. “You’re damn right about that.” He let his hand rest on the Impala’s roof, looking at the unhappy expression on Sam’s face. “Most of the hotels Sam and I stay at are pretty dark. I could use a rest, and I’ve got some unanswered questions. Just for today, you should come with us.”

Spike blinked. “You think?”

“Keep me thinking about it and I’ll start having second thoughts.” Dean opened the driver’s door. “And don't even think about smoking in the car.”

Spike looked at Sam, who shrugged and headed for the passenger’s side. “Okay then.” Dropping the cigarette, Spike got into the back seat. “Let’s go.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we start to go seriously AU, as _It's a Terrible Life_ doesn't happen.

Dean had always loved the long lonely highways of West Texas: open skies and not a cop for more than a hundred miles in any direction. He fed his baby all the gas she wanted and she purred, all the windows wide open and the warm desert air running through his hair. He laughed and turned to express his glee at the freedom of it to his brother in the passenger seat, but Sam wasn’t there. Instead a tiny blonde girl wearing a floral-patterned sundress and over-sized sunglasses laughed with him, her arm out the window, hand swaying in the air currents.

“Same as it ever was,” she sang.

“Here I am behind the wheel of a large automobile,” Dean replied. He chanced another glance at her. “Do I know you?”

She shook her head with a smile. “Not really. We have a mutual acquaintance. Well, a few of them, anyway.”

Dean knew that if he reached for the woman she’d disappear. “How’d you get in my car then?”

Her hands stroked the dash. “Inside your holiest of holies, you mean? I have my ways.”

“Who are you?” asked Dean.

Again she smiled before looking out the window. “I’ve got a ridiculous name and I might not even be me right now, believe it or not.”

“You’d be surprised the things I’m willing to believe when they come out of the mouth of a beautiful woman.”

She dipped the sunglasses down and he couldn’t quite tell the color of her eyes from the quick look he got. “Would you believe that I care? Personally? About you?”

Dean’s expression sombered and he focused on the road ahead. “Why would you do that?”

Suddenly she was right beside him, whispering into his ear. “Because you are worthy, Dean Winchester.” Her lips just grazed the shell of his ear and his eyes rolled shut at the contact. “Because you let my friend Spike sleep in your bathtub even after you found out what he was,” she whispered.

Dean’s eyes shot open. “Spike? What’s he got to do with this?”

She leaned back into the seat. “Right tool for the right job, Dean. Spike’s got his uses.” The grin on the woman’s face was lewd enough to be illegal in several Bible-belt states. “Not that I expect you to use him for that, but he’s a clever one. He sees things other people refuse to.”

Dean shook his head. “He’s some kind of a demon. Can’t trust ‘em.” Dean wasn’t sure when they’d arrived, but they were standing at a scenic rest stop, the one where he’d finally broken down and told Sammy their father’s last words.

The blonde woman was tiny, her head barely reaching his chest as she slung back a bottle of beer. “That’s right, can’t trust anything that’s got a little bit of a demon in it, can you?”

Dean flinched. “I don’t mean – I trust Sammy.”

“Do you, now?” The woman clinked her bottle against Dean’s before taking another long drink.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smiled. “Nothing at all,” she said, all too quickly. “People have been doing the whole ‘free-will’ question much longer than you’ve been alive, but I’ll take it you’re a true believer, if you trust your brother.” She hopped up to sit on the fence in a motion of impossible grace. “Even the demonically-tainted have free will. And oh, the things they do with it. Sometimes they do the right things for the wrong reasons. Other times it’s the wrong things for the right reasons. And some of them even do the right things for the right reasons. Basically the same as with people.”

She wasn’t wearing the sunglasses anymore. Hazel green eyes sparkled at him while she said this and Dean paused, lost in them for a moment, in the galaxies he could see in their depths. Finally he cleared his throat before saying, “I’m not sure I understand.”

Her hand cupped his cheek. “Maybe one day you will.” Dean leaned into the touch as her thumb caressed his stubble. “So much I wish I could say, but there’s not enough time. There never is.” She withdrew the hand. “I have to go. But if you’re a bright boy, and I like to think you are, you’ll ask Spike about troll hammers.”

Dean blinked. “Troll hammers?” She nodded in reply, taking another drink from her beer, and pointed behind Dean’s shoulder. He turned and saw an oversized metallic hammer sitting on a nearby picnic bench. When he looked back at the fence, the woman was no longer there. Dean shrugged at this and walked over to the picnic table. Setting his beer down, Dean tried to pick up the strange artifact. He pulled at it with all his strength, but it wouldn’t budge. The skies grew dark and Dean felt suddenly isolated and terrified. He looked up at the heavens, tears stinging at his eyes. “I can’t lift it!”

~*~

Dean woke up and his brother was already awake, dressed and sitting up in bed, tapping at his laptop. “Morning,” said Dean. He looked over at the curtained window. “What time is it?” Dean asked, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“A little after four,” said Sam.

Dean levered himself off of the bed. “You let me sleep that long?”

A half smile appeared on Sam’s face. “Listened to your snoring and figured you needed it.”

Dean grunted, pulled on a pair of jeans and headed for the bathroom, but found the door shut and locked. He shook his head. “Right.” He knocked, but there was no response. Dean knocked at the bathroom door again. “Come on, Spike!” The door swung open and Dean looked down at a bare-chested Spike, who was glaring daggers at him.

“The sun is still up, this is the first sleep I’ve had in six bloody years, I’m getting it in the fucking bathtub, and I’m still knackered all to hell, so could you please bugger off?” Spike slammed the door shut before Dean could wedge his way in.

Dean shot his brother a look before knocking again. “I need to piss, Spike, and I will kick this door in to do it.” Sam laughed. “I really liked him better when he was a ghost.”

Sam looked at his watch. “He’s had a body for all of twenty hours.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t like him much then either.” He was about to knock again when Sam stopped him.

Sam rapped gently at the door. “Spike, the curtains are shut, you can get some sleep out here.”

The door cracked open. Spike looked at Sam, then Dean, then Sam again. “Promise he won’t throw the curtains open while I’m out there?”

“I fed you my own blood last night to keep you alive, after putting myself through the complete grossness of that do you really think I’m going to kill you now?” groused Dean.

“Good point.” Spike let Dean push by as he stepped out of the bathroom, grabbing the duvet out of the tub. Dean gave his brother a grateful smile as he shut the door, while Spike collapsed onto Dean’s vacant bed, the duvet pulled over his head. “You’d think your brother of all people in the world would respect a man’s first day’s sleep after being dead.”

Sam settled back into a chair. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re still dead, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well, undead is more accurate, but-” Spike peeked out from under the covers. “Can we do the semantics later? In like, two hours?”

Sam smiled. “Okay.”

“Good.” Spike returned to his face-down position on the bed, pulling the duvet back over his head as a precaution against Dean deciding that he was just a little too demonic for the hotel room. Sam watched the lump in the gloomy light: apparently when Spike slept he did a much better impression of dead, because the lump didn’t move at all.

Several minutes later Dean emerged from the bathroom, cast a disapproving look at the lump on his bed, and took the other seat. He reached over for his duffel and pulled out the equipment he’d need to clean his pearl handled automatic. Sam sighed: Dean had cleaned the gun two days before, and hadn’t fired it since, but Sam wasn’t going to say anything. “You couldn’t scrounge up some food, could you? I’m starving,” said Dean as he released the cartridge.

Sam stood. “Sure. Pie?”

“Whatever.” Dean didn’t look up. Sam swallowed and headed for the door. He hesitated when he reached it and Dean finally looked up at him. “You don’t have to worry. I wouldn’t kill the bastard until he gave us some answers.”

“Yeah, right.” Sam twirled the keys around his finger. “I’ll be right back.” It took Sam the better part of an hour to find all the things he was looking for in Cheyenne, so by the time he returned Dean had finished with the automatic and was reassembling his shotgun, the barrels of it gleaming in the lamplight. “Been hard at work?” Dean grunted in response but said nothing. Sam set one brown paper sack on the table before placing a smaller one in the mini-fridge. When he returned to the table, Dean simply raised an eyebrow. “Pig blood from the butcher’s. For Spike.”

Dean pursed his lips and started unwrapping a cheeseburger. He took a large bite and chewed. Sam busied himself with his own food. Eventually Dean balled up the empty paper wrapper and deposited it in the bag. As he dug into the apple pie, he said, “In our experience, dead man’s blood paralyzes a vampire. What do you think dead pig’s blood does?”

Sam glanced over at the lump on the bed. “Spike’s not our kind of vampire. He asked for pig’s blood last night, I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“What kind of vampire is he?”

“I don’t know. Whatever a vampire is in the world he comes from I guess.”

“And what other information have you two been sharing in your little secret pow-wows?” asked Dean, his eyes flashing with anger. “Pow-wows that I wasn’t invited to.”

“Dean,” said Sam, wiping his forehead with his hand. “It wasn’t like that. I’m always carrying the amulet around, so Spike’s always around me. He’s – he’s easy to talk to.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Right.”

“When he’s not insulting me, anyway,” admitted Sam, stabbing a piece of chicken and chewing. “He listens. He thinks. He has the occasional bright idea.” Sam grinned at his brother. “Like bothering to ask for a list of the seals.”

“Hmph,” huffed Dean. He finished his pie before saying, “Y’know, when it comes to confidantes, other than me, I mean, does it bug you that all of yours turn out to be demons and all of mine turn out to be angels?” Sam developed that bitchy face he was so good at making, and Dean smiled. “Just saying.”

Whatever reply Sam might have formulated was lost as an arm appeared from beneath the duvet and pulled the cover off, revealing a fully conscious Spike. “My, but you two can natter on.” Spike stood up.

“Good morning, sunshine,” said Dean, pulling at the drapes. The window revealed nothing but fading twilight. “You’ve got an instinct for this, don’t you?”

Spike tapped his temple with his finger. “The demon always knows. Now, unless you’d like the general public to swoon at my exposed and chiseled physique, could one of you two lend me a shirt? The only one I had has a couple of holes and a lot of blood all over it.” Sam reached into his duffel. “And none of that pink paisley crap you’re so fond of.”

Sam glowered, but tossed a grey t-shirt to the vampire, who pulled it on. “There’s blood in the fridge,” said Sam.

Spike headed for the fridge, opened the plastic container, and sniffed it before sipping. “Thanks for the thought,” he said. Spike leaned up against the dresser while enjoying his breakfast. Dean wrinkled his nose at the sight. “So, what are those unanswered questions that were so important that you’re holding off on staking me, Dean?”

Dean let out a short laugh. “Staking you? I didn’t know that was a threat.”

Spike tilted his head. “Wooden stake to the heart, sunlight, cut my head off, set me on fire. Crosses burn, so does holy water, and I had my last taste of garlic about a hundred-twenty years ago.” He set the half-empty container on the dresser behind him. “There, you know all the ways to kill me. Going to set about it now, are you?”

Dean raised his hand, shaking his head. “Those are all fairy stories: they don’t work, except for decapitation.”

“Well slap a pair of wings on me and let me prance around the forest spreading pixie dust, because here I am.”

Sam snickered at this while Dean sat back. “I’m not touching that one with a ten foot pole,” said Dean.

Spike snorted. “Yeah, you wouldn’t. So, you figured out the whole angel-killing thing, did you have any luck with the list of seals?”

“Not yet,” said Sam. “Ruby got a little, uh, defensive when we asked.”

Spike bobbed his head. “Figured as much.”

Dean shot Spike an odd look before adding, “Bobby’s still working on it, so’s Anna. What do you mean, you figured as much?”

Spike shook his head and took another long drink of blood. “We smell our own.”

Sam’s forehead wrinkled. “Huh?”

“Divide and conquer, my overgrown friend. As a tactic, it works a peach. That Ruby, she’s been pretty helpful so far, has she?”

Sam swallowed. “Yeah.”

His brother snorted and Sam gave him a dirty look and was about to say something when Spike lifted his hand. “Ah, ah, ah. What did I just say?”

Sam gritted his teeth. “Divide and conquer.”

Spike nodded. “I’m not saying she’s hasn’t done you a good turn here and there, I’m not even saying that she won’t do you more in the future. But the only thing she appears to be reliable for is making you and your brother pissy at each other.” Dean smirked at this before noticing that Spike had turned his attention to him. “Meanwhile, Rickets, those angel pals of yours who proved themselves so very trustworthy last night, I’m sure they have nothing but high praise for your brother here?”

Dean huffed at this before Sam muttered, “Threatened to kill me.”

Dean thought for a second and folded his arms. “Divide and conquer,” admitted Dean.

The corners of Spike’s mouth tilted up. “There you go. Could be either one, could be both, but neither? I wouldn’t put money on it. Something out there wants you two acting angry, stupid, and separate. Just something to bear in mind.” He tossed the empty container in the trash.

Sam shook his head. “But why?”

“I don’t know. All I know is you two are being played by every side, and I’ve been fate’s bitch enough times to recognize the signs.” Spike paused here, his gaze lingering on Dean for a few seconds longer than Dean was comfortable with, “I can’t even tell what game they’re playing yet but it smells off to me. So, I need you two to demonstrate a modicum of self-awareness. You’re not just pawns on a chessboard: you’ve got free will, and it’s time to start using it.”

Dean remembered the words from his dream. Did Spike see something in him? And what was it that the girl had said? “Troll hammers,” Dean mumbled under his breath.

Spike tilted his head. “What did you say?”

Dean rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “I’m supposed to ask you about troll hammers.” Sam and Spike both stared at him blankly. “Never mind, Sam’s the one who gets the psychic dreams, it was just really vivid, that’s all.”

Spike pursed his lips. “Troll hammer is a magical metal mallet: can knock a god out cold with one if you can wield it, which you can’t, because we don’t have one and you’re not a troll or a Slayer.” His eyes narrowed. “Who told you to ask me that? One of the angels?”

Dean thought about this for a second. “I don’t think so. She, uh, didn’t really act like one.”

“She?” Spike repeated.

“Yeah.” Dean leaned back in his chair. “Never seen her before in my life, but she showed up in my dream last night, talking about free will and, uh, troll hammers.” He looked over at his brother. “She was kinda hot,” he said with a smile.

Sam had developed an odd look. “Blonde chick?” asked Sam. Dean nodded and he and Sam both held their hands up a little over their heads. “About this tall,” they said in unison.

“She was in my dream last night, too,” said Sam. “It was kind of weird. We were watching T.V. at Pastor Jim’s; she had the remote, kept flipping through the channels.” Sam rubbed his jaw. “It was mostly old movies: Hitchcock and Bergman for awhile before it changed over to Bugs Bunny cartoons and old Disney movies. Then she settled on _Reefer Madness_ for awhile so she could make fun of it, and after that she, uh,” he blushed slightly, “beat me at a game of Twister.” Dean snickered. “Not a euphemism.”

“Oh, I believe you,” said Dean with a grin. “She say anything about troll hammers?”

Sam shook his head. “No. The last thing she said was kind of weird though. She told me to let Spike know that ‘the grocery store by Jessie’s girl’s place stocks Weetabix.’”

“Huh,” said Dean. “That’s different. What’s a Weetabix?”

“It’s a kind of cereal,” said Spike, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the dresser. “Let me get this straight: you both had dreams about a short, attractive, remarkably flexible blonde woman who talked about troll hammers, free will, and Weetabix?”

The boys nodded. Dean shrugged. “She might have also mentioned a thing or two about you.”

Spike clutched his jaw. “Her eyes, they weren’t this funny sort of hazel color, looks different depending on the light, were they, by any chance?”

Sam and Dean shared a look. “Yeah,” said Sam. “Did you dream about her too?”

“No.” There was a hint of pain in his voice. “She didn’t visit me.” Spike looked off to the side. “But the girl you’re describing bears a marked resemblance to one Buffy Summers.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Your Slayer friend?”

“Maybe.” Spike bit his lip. “Don’t know how or why she’d be mucking about in your dreams.” ‘But not mine’ went unspoken, but Sam heard it in Spike’s tone. Spikes eyes went unfocused for a few moments before he looked at Sam. “Who’s ‘Jessie’s girl’?”

“You mean, ‘Where can you find a woman like that’?” chuckled Dean. Then a thought occurred to him. “Sam, do you remember Pamela’s tattoo?”

“The tramp stamp?” said Sam. Then he grinned. “Yeah, it said, ‘Jesse Forever.’”

Spike nodded. “I can’t stay with you lot in the car, and it’s not like I have a lot of spare cash on hand to set myself up with.”

Dean tilted his head. “Whoa, whoa. You planning on shacking up with her? You’ve never even met her.”

Spike smirked. “‘Shacking up’? We’ll have to see. But it sounds like I’m supposed to stay with her.” Sam quirked an eyebrow, forcing Spike to explain. “Weetabix is an old favorite of mine, and a lot of stores don’t stock it. If Buffy said there was Weetabix there, it’s because she thinks I’ll be staying there awhile.”

Dean grunted. “Cereal? But you’re a vampire.” Spike’s lips thinned. “I don’t want to know, do I?”

“You’re probably happier that way,” agreed Spike.

Sam glanced at his watch. “If we start now, we might be able to make her place by sunup.” Dean looked at his brother. “If we speed.”

~*~

The sky had turned a light shade of violet when they turned into Pamela’s driveway. Barnes was sitting in a rocking chair on her porch. “You boys are cutting it awful close.”

Dean hiked up the steps and pulled her up into a hug. “Give Spike a few minutes and you’ll be wishing we’d been too late,” he said, squeezing her tight. He set her down on her feet, grabbed the cane leaning against the post and pushed it into her hand. “Sorry to get you up this early.”

“You mean up this late,” said Pamela. She swatted his legs with the cane. “Get on inside then, all of you.” The three men filed into her house, and she shut the door behind them. Sam gave her a hug that she accentuated with a quick grope before he broke away. Then she turned. “So you’re the infamous vampire Spike.”

“Guilty as charged, madam.”

Pamela smirked. “Well you are something special, aren’t you?” Though the Winchesters had told him she was blind, Spike had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being ogled. After a few seconds she nodded. “I do meet the prettiest things when I work with hunters. You’ll do. No worries, you can stay here as long as you need.” She walked into the living room. “Come, sit, you must be tired. There’s beers in the fridge, Dean.”

After eleven hours crammed into the Impala, Spike elected to lean against the mantle, but Sam settled into the couch after Pamela deposited herself safely out of groping range in a chair on the opposite side of the coffee table. Spike looked around: the house was small but looked comfortable enough, and all of the windows were well covered by thick curtains. Dean returned from the kitchen with four longnecks and handed one off to Spike before sitting next to his brother. “Anything else I can do for you?” asked Pamela.

Dean set his beer down on the table. “Not sure. Hell, I’m not entirely sure why we’re here in the first place.”

Pamela shrugged. “It was a bit of a surprise, but I figured it was because Bobby would drink battery acid before he let a vampire live under his roof and I was the next number in your phone.”

“Dean and I got these weird dreams, maybe messages, told us to bring Spike here. They were a little hazy on the general outline, not to mention the fine details,” said Sam.

Pamela sipped from her beer. “Weren’t from those fucking angels, were they?”

Dean chuckled. “No. Near as we can tell they were from an old girlfriend of Spike’s,” he said, not quite able to keep his eyes from rolling.

“That’s quite the long distance call. Spike here’s not a native to this particular dimension,” said Pamela.

Spike nearly choked on his beer. “When did Dean tell you that?”

Pamela had a wide grin on her face. “I’m a psychic, honey, and it’s written all over you. Buffy, huh?” She turned her face to the brothers. “And these two think she’s quite a looker.” Spike glared at Sam and Dean. Sam blushed and looked down, but Dean just arched his eyebrows and shrugged. “What’s she doing chatting up cute but not terribly bright men in my neck of the woods?”

“Don’t know,” said Spike.

Pamela sighed. “Sometimes it’s hard for a girl to pick up the phone and call her ex, sugar.” She scooted forward on the chair. “Give me your hands, boys.” Sam and Dean dutifully extended their hands towards her, and she clasped them in her own. “Definitely not just dreams. Funny. If it was your former sweetheart who contacted these two, I wouldn’t want to run into her in a dark alley on the astral plane.” Pamela released the boys’ hands. “She some kind of super-psychic?”

Spike shook his head. “No. She’s a Slayer. Super-strength, but not so much with the mind powers.”

Dean looked back at Spike. “Could it have been some kind of a demon?”

“No, it’s not demonic, not evil of any kind. Not like anything I’ve ever seen before, but then again, neither is our new friend here.” She took a long swig. “The image in your heads though, it matches up perfectly with the girl Spike’s thinking of. I’m just not sure on how it got there, or if it was actually her and not something else that just looks like her. She tell you anything else, other than to come here?”

Sam and Dean shook their heads. “Just to ask Spike about troll hammers,” said Dean.

Pamela tilted her head. “I still haven’t figured that one out,” replied Spike.

“You keep thinking on it, darlin’, I’m sure you’ll work it out.” Pamela stood. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m beat. Make yourselves at home. There’s a guest bedroom down the hall, you’ll have to put on the sheets yourself. The couch is comfy enough and there’s a cot in the basement.” She headed up the stairs. When she’d reached the top, she called back, “Of course, my door’s always open.”

The three in the living room exchanged looks. “Which one of us was she talking to?” asked Spike.

Sam smiled. “With Pam, it could be any of us.”

Dean put his feet up on the table. “Or all of us,” he said before taking a drink.


End file.
